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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031180">the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostigos/pseuds/Ghostigos'>Ghostigos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>when all echoes turn gold [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - C-PTSD, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Food Issues, Gen, M/M, Past Child Neglect, References to Depression, Relapsing, Yom Kippur | Atonement Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 02:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostigos/pseuds/Ghostigos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Atonement Day calls for certain restraints, and Snufkin is accidentally transparent about how he’s handling it. </p><p>(In addition, there's the cautionary tale of apples and trees to keep in mind.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Muminpappan | Moominpappa &amp; Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>when all echoes turn gold [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. when we are good we are only mostly good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(<em>night happens, but no one listens</em> — one need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not be a house)</p><p>this turned out wayyy longer than planned, rip; also this is likely the heaviest fic in the series in terms of subject matter, just as a heads-up</p><p>takes place several months after <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216749">a string of guiding lights</a>; the triplets are 14 and mildew is 5</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's September 26, 1953, and you're trying to think of what sort of letters folks write to complete strangers.</p><p>Admittedly, it was smart of Moominpappa to suggest the possibility of other hikers to accommodate your journey up Ukko’s Peak — since your lungs are blackened and your joints brittle it's gotten harder to justify solo hikes up treacherous mountains. Not that you're over the moon about Moominpappa's advertising in the paper getting some interested volunteers, but suppose it's best to practice humility lest you want to wise up and find a doctor for your conditions.</p><p>Although your meals have skimmed, you still sit with the rest of Moominhouse at the dinner table, just to indulge the natural order of things.  You stare down at your untouched ink and blank papers with very little greens on your plate, brushed to the side so nothing stains the letters.</p><p>The kids are more crabby of late due to meals being postponed an hour later than usual, since they too feel out of tune when routines are upheavaled. The idea of fasting is more daunting to them than it is for you, but then again everything is often too big for your kids, like long shadows that are just shorter beneath your boot-heels, and it's just something they ought to grow into like anything else.</p><p>Moominmamma offers chunks of leftover honey cake from Rosh Hashanah, passing it around to dangle on the brim of everyone's dinner plates. When offered some, you decline politely.</p><p>Your mother-in-law's gaze looks offput, but before she can persist Little My reaches over and snatches the cake to stack atop her own slice. "Whatever you say, pal," she sneers at you, then taking a large chomp of her stolen piece quite proudly.</p><p>Moominmamma frowns at the behavior but seems more focused on where you're tapping your pen against the tabletop. "Are you certain you don't want anything else, dear?" she asks again, her eyes as deep and somber as a night's creek. "I know this is tradition, but...—"</p><p>"You don't need to fuss over me, Moominmamma," you wave her off kindly, "I promise that I'm quite full."</p><p>She hesitates — it's easier to pluck needles from haystacks than to restrain Moominmamma from fattening anyone up — but does end up taking her seat right beside her son. There is little talk to be exchanged outside of stray remarks, with the comfort of another day seeping into a well-adjusted silence.</p><p>Of course it doesn't last, because Lil Muff is, as usual, the first to file her complaints. "This is so <em>boring!</em>" she cries, because she's not allowed to say 'stupid' at the table. She turns to Moomintroll who has a very abundant dish compared to her own. "I'm hungry, Pappa, can't we <em>please</em> just have a bit more food?" It likely doesn't help that you're having her favorite: blutwurst over steamed beans.</p><p>Moomintroll is in the middle of a large bite, so you answer for him: "If you don't ration out your meals, you could get an awful stomachache during the fasting, sweet."</p><p>"Mildew doesn't have to fast!" she protests.</p><p>"Mildew is too young," you explain for the upteenth time. "You're fourteen now, dear, you're nearly all grown-up!"</p><p>"Esschatly," Moomintroll says over his food, which doesn't help matters.</p><p>Your daughter's ears fall and she slumps over the table, peering so sadly down at her food. "But it's hard," she mopes.</p><p>"Not if you do it properly," you assure her. "And I'm certain we're not the only culture that takes a day or so to reflect on past years."</p><p>"I once knew of a hemulen that didn't eat for near one-hundred hours!" Moominmamma attests. "Although that might have been from a blood problem."</p><p><em>So, what? We just sit on our hinds and feel sorry for ourselves?</em> Pluckey asks, gulping down the last of their milk to free their paws to speak.</p><p>"That's not true," Moominmamma says. "We were going to spend the day building your altar, weren't we dear?"</p><p>Pluckey frowns, then shrugs. They'd been slowly drifting more to spellbinds and green magick in the past year; it's not what you consider sacrilege, keeping one foot on mumriken traditions and another foot in something new. It's important to respect nature, after all, as the core of respect and consideration for all things. It's also hard to disapprove when they're so happy on fixing shrines and studying spells with their grandmother; there's not a drop of magic in your veins so the ones that have access to it are fairly remarkable.</p><p>When Moomintroll finally finishes his long-suffering bite of food, he peeks over to your placement. "Still having troubles writing, dearest?"</p><p>You sigh in response. "How <em>anyone</em> bothers to write anything in letters other than 'yes' and 'no' and 'thank you' is beyond me."</p><p>"You write to us all the time," Snapdragon says — they've been very quiet lately and are merely picking mouse-sized portions from their miniscule dinner.</p><p>"Well, because I know you quite well, Snappea," you say. "It's easy to write to those you know."</p><p>Little My gawks and nearly stands atop her chair. "You never write anything to <em>me!</em>" she rebuttals.</p><p>"You never asked," you reply.</p><p>She sniffs with distaste. "Right, your letters are probably all fluff anyway. 'Dear, beloved family: Today I saw a butterfly! Effervescent.'"</p><p>"I like hearing about your butterfly findings!" Moomintroll pipes up, looking over at My with great offense like she's talking directly to him.</p><p>"Oh! Speaking of such," Moominmamma scurries out of her chair, and the table waits in light anticipation as she returns with two dishes covered in pale tea towels. She holds them out for you to gingerly take; luckily the bottoms of the plates have cooled. "If you won't eat, may you please run these up to Moominpappa and Mildew? They're in the atelier. I do wish Moominpappa would join us, but I know he's passionate about his crafts!"</p><p>You nod. "Of course, Moominmamma."</p><p>She takes your abandoned plate as you walk upstairs, only after Moomintroll gets his demanding nuzzle of noses.</p><p>-</p><p>Moominpappa's workshop has gotten <em>much</em> more crowded for a multitude of reasons: your expedition, his recent new hobbies, or just procrastination being some of the leading causes. One hobby being railway modeling, which you never thought of Moominpappa being interested in — then again, his cravings for adventure often lead him to unforeseen areas, and you can't say you discourage his explorations. It's nice to see someone older than you still finding ways to get excited.</p><p>You call out to announce your presence since you can't knock, then you have troubles moving a stack of crates from the doorway so you can wriggle inside. There's a mass of books, parchments, toolboxes, bare lumber, putty tubes, and otherwise to trip over, so you keep cautious as you waltz around the workshop in a meticulous dance. Moominpappa finally looks up from his olden desk to call, "Ah, Snufkin! Come over, I was just expecting you."</p><p>You keep the plates at arm's length to steady your balance, sticking your tail out from underneath your dress, and finally you reach the side of his bureau with a pant. "Moominmamma says she misses you at the table," you say, setting down your offerings on the scratched mahogany.</p><p>"Yes, well," Moominpappa says, "a moomin <em>must</em> stay dedicated to his work until they're complete!"</p><p>"Of course," you reply, looking around for a place to sit — the problem being there are many options, but you're unsure if they're fit to hold your weight.</p><p>"Oh, sit wherever you like," he dismisses, flipping the cloth off his dinner. "I have a stool right next to the tracks, I'd been working on it this morning."</p><p>Indeed, there had been some alters to the layout of Moominpappa's alleged magnum opus: although there are still sections showing the skeleton of wood, the table is long and patched with foam and a train track that swirls around what you assume will be a small town. The mountaintops are bare and clearly resemble Moominvalley’s hills, although the layout is quite different. On the farthest end of the tabletop rests a lighthouse glued to faux rocks, and there will probably be a seaside that the train travels across, although you’ve never heard of such a thing existing. Much of this veers onto more fantasy than anchored realism.</p><p>Still, in your humble opinion, it's very impressive.</p><p>When you make to sit, a pair of eyes wider than turkey's eggs right beneath the table that nearly startles you backwards. But upon closer inspection, it's a very familiar set of eyes, and you kneel down to greet him with a grin.</p><p>"Hello, bug," you murmur warmly. "Were you helping Moomingrandpa with his trains?"</p><p>Mildew peeks out as timidly as a snail poking its head out of a shell. He nods fiercely, crawling out on all fours so you can properly grab him.</p><p>"He's a talented lad, I'll admit!" Moominpappa calls over. "Ask him about the train we're building!"</p><p>You raise an expectant brow.</p><p>"The first locomotion was the first steam-powered railway engine to run on a public railroad," Mildew recites right from the tin. "Records say it reached 15 mph."</p><p>Moominpappa blinks. "Erm, well, that's certainly <em>a</em> train fact, so...well done, son."</p><p>You scoop Mildew up and settle him on your lap. "How educational!" you appraise. "What else?"</p><p>"'Bout trains?" Mildew perks up curiously.</p><p>"Sure! Trains, birds, whatever you wish."</p><p>Mildew takes this into thought, reaching for your mane and giving some fur a pull before saying, "Some train wheels used to have paper on 'em. They don't anymore."</p><p>"Well!" you exclaim. "How insightful, I'm glad someone in this house bothers to read. Go and eat your food, now."</p><p>Mildew nods as you lower him to the floor. His oversized caulk boots clack against whatever bare woodboard is still visible, then reaches up so Moominpappa hands off the untouched plate. He settles on a stack of books and begins to eat, crossing his legs.</p><p>"Oh, on the matter of literacy!" Moominpappa smacks his lip and sets down his fork. "Did you ever get those letters sent off?"</p><p>You frown a bit, dampened by the prospect. "Not yet. It's a pain to think of what to write."</p><p>"Posh! Just thank them for showing interest in the hike, is all! Do you remember their names?"</p><p>"Not entirely, no."</p><p>"Oh. Hm. I might have their return address somewhere..." He looks around the sea of items, seeing the effort to sought out the envelopes futile. "Ah, never mind. We can thank them when we're there!"</p><p>Your shoulders greatly loosen. "That sounds just fine to me."</p><p>"Wonderful," Moominpappa returns his interest to his fractured diorama, walking over to where the lighthouse sits and opening the top to assert a flame. Once the small light flickers to life, he shakes off the match and sets it aside to a work table holding an array of tools. "If you'd like to stay and help, I could use some assistance modeling the mountaintops."</p><p>"I think I'm alright," you shake your head. Mildew, from his makeshift seat, sets down his plate and flexes his paws in your direction. You take him and roam back around to the tableside, where he plucks a train off its course and holds it up for you to see. "Although it seems Mildew will be happy to assist."</p><p>"The more paws the merrier," Moominpappa beams. "Oh, and you begin fasting tomorrow, yes?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Hmm." He brings his index to the tip of his fuzzy jawline. As he ponders, Mildew runs the train wheels up and down the front of your chest. "Perhaps it's a good idea to be lighter on our portions from here on out. Just to prepare for the trip!"</p><p>"That's fine.".</p><p>"You have no problems with eating less?" He cocks his head in a way that's very much like Moomintroll, and it makes you vastly uneasy for some reason.</p><p>"I've managed before," is all you say, and clip the conversation as you set your son into the stool where you'd just sat. He continues running the train along the railroads.</p><p>"Yes," Moominpappa drawls, and that also makes you uncomfortable.</p><p>"Have fun, bug," you say to Mildew, poking his nose until he beams. You take the emptied dishware and leave.</p><p>-</p><p>"So, one foot on your right."</p><p>"Yes, I was doing that. You tripped over it, remember?"</p><p>Moomintroll's ears turn the color of strawberry lemonade. "Well," he sputters, "it's not <em>my</em> fault that you're cloddish!"</p><p>"Shut up," you hiss, worming out of his paw wrapped around your waist to restart the melody — picking the needle off its infinite journey around the vinyl. The pavilion makes a sad, distorted noise that crackles like kernel as the music abruptly ceases.</p><p>You give a short puff and place your knuckles on your hips, looking at Moomintroll with theatrical disdain. "Well!" you snap. "Since I'm so terrible, how about <em>you</em> take over?"</p><p>"Fine then," Moomintroll responds, marching over to rewind the tune. "But don't come crying to me when you still can't waltz. How was I supposed to know you were born with two left feet?"</p><p>"Moomin."</p><p>"Is that why you come round the valley every spring? Caught in a pattern by you constantly circling about?"</p><p>"Shove off!" You push him against the meat of his upper arm, but it's pointless since a smile is snaking its way up your cheeks. "Or perhaps I'll screw my feet on properly and never return!"</p><p>Moomintroll, your heart, is smiling too.</p><p>There's a brief static intervention as the needle scours for the song. During which you prepare by clasping paws with Moomintroll, one paw on his shoulder, and planting out your left foot to align with his.</p><p>The phonograph swells the sitting room with a trembling classical tune, featuring brilliant trumpets and the roots of the chords embedded in the heavy cellos. "Alright!" Moomintroll breathes, and advances forward.</p><p>You trip over the carpeting.</p><p>"Snufkin!" he scolds.</p><p>"I'm <em>trying!</em>" you snap. "You nearly clobbered my toes!"</p><p>The music continues without a care, as you collide and knot your legs together; you're trying very hard to remember that when he goes left, so do you — which works until he goes forward and you tug right.</p><p>"Remember what I said before: rise and fall," Moomintroll advises, while his tail slaps rather rudely against the back of your shins.</p><p>You encircle him and bare through teeth, "What does that <em>mean?</em>"</p><p>"You go forward on one, downwards on two—"</p><p>"Forward as in 'up'?"</p><p>"Yes!" He twirls you about but ends up yanking you up into his armpits. "Oops."</p><p>"Just—!" you pull away with a sputter, his fur on your lips. "Let me start it over!" You make to head back to where the phonograph rests on its stand, trying to detach Moomintroll's incessant grip.</p><p>"<em>Ow!</em>" Moomintroll whines when your feet collide with the backend of his knees, pushing his large snout unceremoniously into your face.</p><p>"For goodness' sake, off with you!" you exclaim over the music.</p><p>"Then stop moving! Just— let me get my balance—"</p><p>Curse your partner for being as tall and stout as a loaded barrel of wine. "I'm <em>trying</em>, you lug, you're too—!"</p><p>Your cries of shock and forthcoming pain intermingle as you tumble onto the carpet. Moomintroll lands atop your stomach and knocks out whatever breath is in your lungs. Your hat has fallen onto his own head, but you're occupied with massaging the sore spot on your neck to retrieve it.</p><p>"Ouch..."</p><p>"Are you two done yet?" Little My pokes her head out from around the corner with narrowed brows. "Any more of your wallops and you'll knock over the candles."</p><p>At their mention, you discard your pain and turn to ensure that the tealight candles along the windowsill are still intact — thankfully, they're still unmoving. Moominmamma had helped you set them around Moominhouse the night before, and although they're not the proper type for this holiday, they're better than nothing at all.</p><p>Moomintroll gives a hefty grunt, rubbing his poor nose which is a bit pink from the impact. Even when he puts on a show of annoyance, he still helps you back up.</p><p>"Apologies," you tell him, stifling a chuckle at the events. "I'm much better with impromptu jigs than any sort of slow dancing."</p><p>"So I've noticed," Moomintroll tutts. "But I appreciate you trying."</p><p>"<em>Bleh!</em>" Little My intercepts. "Go build your nest somewhere else, you lovebirds. I'm <em>trying</em> to win blackjack!"</p><p>"Who on earth would want to play cards with you?" Moomintroll quips back.</p><p>On cue, a fuzzy face you hadn't expected to see pops in right beneath Little My's scowl; you recognize them by their moppy fur that smells strongly of soot, and how with every bit of movement from their umber-colored fleece there's a spark of cinders that erupts from the ancient wisps.</p><p>Moomintroll has put a stop to the near-pesky music and is rubbernecked by the housemate's appearance. "How by the Booble's tail did you possibly get the Ancestor to play your card games??"</p><p>Little My sniffs. "Easy, I'm kind and caring. Of course they'd wanna be around me."</p><p>"Rubbish."</p><p>"Rubbish yourself!"</p><p>"Ahem," you warn them both. Since you've no known prayers to recite (and little patience for doing so), the least you wanted for this day of reflection is some peace and quiet. The whole mission of this holiday is to wage peace, after all.</p><p>Pluckey, too, emerges from the hallway and settles underneath the Ancestor's mug. They monitor you and Moomin with raised black brows. <em>What are you doing?</em></p><p>"Ah!" Moomintroll says. "I was just teaching your father how to dance!"</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>"Why not?" you respond simply.</p><p>(Not because you keep drifting back to the ache in your stomach, as familiar as a darned sweater.)</p><p>Pluckey still looks discontent, as does the rest of your audience. The Ancestor carries a gaze up to Little My, and after they exchange some sort of verdict via the language the eyebrows, they head back to their game held in the next room over, beside the tile stove.</p><p>"Well, when you decide to quit stomping around I'm always up to kick your asses," Little My exclaims over her shoulder.</p><p>You make to berate your sister on her unkindly language in front of your child, but you're distracted when Pluckey walks over and tugs on your dress. <em>I'm hungry,</em> they admit.</p><p>"I know, sweet," you pat their head, amused at how your paw immediately bounces back up like they've buried sprigs in their white curls. "Just a bit longer and then you can eat. Weren't you going to build a shrine with Moominnanna today?"</p><p><em>She's busy right now,</em> Pluckey sulks. <em>And Auntie My always cheats at cards.</em></p><p>"You could join our ballroom!" Moomintroll suggests, walking over to swoop your child onto his shoulder — which they giggle at, and he grins at. He pokes their stomach and continues, "That'll take your mind off of food, pudding!"</p><p><em>Maybe,</em> Pluckey admits, reluctantly smiling. <em>But don't call me pudding.</em></p><p>Moomintroll laughs, spinning them both around to the waltz music that has yet to be turned back on. Neither seem to mind the silence, filling it with laughter and uneven steps instead. </p><p>"Mind yourselves," you call, seeing Moomin come very close to stubbing his toe on some furniture. But you don't participate again, opting to lean against the wall and watch the show with crossed arms.</p><p>When your mind begins to stray back to the kitchen, you assert yourself back into the dance.</p><p>-</p><p>"—Papa, get <em>up!!</em>"</p><p>A smack of something against your head crushes up your dreams like tinfoil in your palm, springing you into immediate panic as you're ripped from slumber. Again comes a harsh slap that echoes through your thickened temple; in haste you fold in half and shoot straight up as you adjust into the room, wild-eyed and alarmed.</p><p>"W-what? What happened??" You stare around the tent with electricity zapped into your blood, that momentary ferocity. "Where's the fire??"</p><p>Someone below you snorts.</p><p>"Huh—?" Peering down, the culprit of your awakening: being your daughter and a wet sock that she's either pulled from her drawer or from your clothesline, which explains why your cheek feels soggy. The gall from interrupted serenity creeps in from the side of your eyes; the threat dispels, and everything is dark.</p><p>"Oh." You rub your eyes, which feel gummed up and freshly peeled. "Hello, dear..."</p><p>"Happy midnight!" Lil Muff shouts eagerly. "This means we can eat! Right?"</p><p>"Hm...?"</p><p>"I brought matzah!" She yanks your nightgown, pushing and pulling, trying to get you out of your hunkered posture. "I'm starving, can we eat now Papa? Please?"</p><p>"You're not <em>starving</em>," you mumble.</p><p>"Just so you know, I didn't agree to this." Another voice wades in from the sidelines, and that's what drags you out of your stupor. Snap sits cross-legged in the corner of the tent, looking disheveled like they too have been dragged out of bed. Pluckey is beside them, leaning forward and patting absently at their paws, looking very bushy-tailed despite the heinous hour.</p><p>"Well, unless you wanted my stomach to keep waking you up, then you might as well be grateful!" Lil Muff sharply rebukes. She turns back to you with her tail thumping against your legs. "You must've been super hungry too, Papa, so I brought us all some matzah to break the fast!"</p><p><em>And I brought jam,</em> Pluckey adds, gesturing to their shirt pockets where the tips of mason jars peek out. <em>The bread is very stale on its own. You're welcome.</em></p><p>"You better have brought boysenberry!" Lil Muff remarks, to which they shrug.</p><p>"Well... Settle a moment, kits." You catch a yawn on the cusp of your palm and feel yourself drooping like wax near a candle. "Let me get...some knives for...for the jam."</p><p>"I already dumped out your backpack," Lil Muff says proudly. She pulls out some wooden cutlery from behind her back, as your gaze flits over to the booklets and materials scattered across the tarpaulin's floor.</p><p>"So you have," you murmur.</p><p>"Great! Let's eat now."</p><p>Your stomach hurts but not for the right reasons.</p><p>The children take no time preparing the meal, with Snap offering to return to Moominhouse and grabbing some milk for the bread. Pluckey swipes the knives away from their sister, meshing both boysenberry and peach jam atop of their share.</p><p>When Snap returns with the pitcher, they lay out the glasses onto your frying pan so they don't spill. They get defensive when you offer to pour the drinks, wishing to do it all by themself.</p><p>"Papa?"</p><p>You hadn't realized how harshly you're staring at the cream pouring from the pitcher's lips until everything collides to the forefront. "Yes, <em>sötnos?</em>"</p><p>"Should we do some kinda prayer?" Lil Muff asks.</p><p>"I don't know," you answer, giving a lopsided frown. You're surprised that you can say that more confidently nowadays, <em>I don't know.</em></p><p>Your daughter exchanges careless shrugs amidst herself and Pluckey. She scarves down her food without command, leaving behind a storm of crumbs that splatter against the thin tent carpeting. Pluckey is more thoughtful about their first bite, with jam collecting on the corner of their mouth.</p><p>Snap takes a sip of their milk before looking at you, like they always do, and noticing your hesitation. "You're not going to eat?" they press.</p><p>Your stomach tightens further. Of all things, you think of onion grass and mud water; that used to be enough for weeks on end, once upon a time.</p><p>"I believe that," you try at length, "I will...still withhold meals for some time longer."</p><p>At your declaration, the kits' pointed ears all perk up at once like they've heard an interesting noise. "How come?" Lil Muff garbles through a mouthful of food.</p><p>The answer feels primitive; when you run it along your tongue it folds into heavy bouts of unrelenting, untethered shame. </p><p>"Well," you venture, "I think we all take advantage of certain things — kindness, or warm meals, or even love! And I think that, sometimes, when you keep those at arm's length, it's good for you."</p><p>"What do you mean?" Snap's tone is odd.</p><p>"I just mean that...hunger hurts, yes, but the point of fasting is to keep our necessities in mind."</p><p><em>So starving keeps that in mind?</em> Pluckey frowns, looking very unconvinced.</p><p>You purse your lips, feeling like you're being buried feet-first and there's pounds of silt being slung over your head.</p><p>"If you start to obsess over anything, it can be deemed as selfish!" you continue. "Nothing is handed to us on a silver platter, it <em>shouldn't</em> be."</p><p>"So, what? We're just NOT supposed to eat?" Lil Muff asks; you don't like how perpendicular their responses are to the blind approval you'd expected.</p><p>"I think you should eat if you feel like you ought to!" you try. "But for me, I don't feel like I ought to."</p><p>Beside you, Snap looks greatly solicitous, tossing something around in the back of their eyelids.</p><p>"Hm," Lil Muff muses. "Well, <em>I</em> think I ought to. So, guess I'll eat!" And eat she does, reaching over to pick up the dropped mitzah in your lap since you're clearly not going to eat it.</p><p>There's a sickening sense of relief that pours in.</p><p>You turn expectantly to Pluckey. "What are you thinking, chickadee?"</p><p>They just shrug, putting down their bread to explain. <em>I think that's a bunch of malarkey to sit and not eat because you don't feel worthy of anything.</em></p><p>"It's not because you don't 'feel worthy'" you correct with near exasperation. "Atonement is about thinking of what you've done wrong, and trying to be <em>better</em>."</p><p><em>So what are YOU going to do this year, then?</em> they interrogate, and Lil Muff makes a throaty noise of both amusement and interest.</p><p>(There was a very nice couple. They fed you soup and pudding because your stomach was the size of a pebble. When you never learned to trust it, you hopped over their fence with half of their pantry loaded into your sack. They yelled many cruel things from the backdoor as you left.)</p><p>"I'm not going to be selfish," you say, "and have others worry over me."</p><p>Seeming satisfied, they return to their food. More relief floods through.</p><p>You watch them all in fondness, and despite your itching humiliation you still garner a smile as Lil Muff and Pluckey begin to shovel out some jam once they've reached the ends of their bread. Although this isn't a scrapbook-esque moment, the kind that Moomintroll tucks into books for later, it's still a moment that you relish in accordingly.</p><p>"I'm not hungry," Snap decides aloud, just when you're about to ask them if they're going to finish their food. They do finish their milk, though, as you had.</p><p>(You'd get very sick from lakewater. It took you a few attempts to learn you had to boil it.)</p><p>"More for us, then," Lil Muff shrugs, and Pluckey splits the matzah in half with a satisfying crunch.</p><p>When Snap stares over to your direction; it always seems like they're taking the sharpest pick they can find and barreling it into the rocks of your mind. But they always have that look on them that they're trying to puzzle others out, which you think you'll never fully understand — you've hardly many secrets, and the ones you do hold are probably uninteresting.</p><p>It still feels revolting. You stare back as though trying to mirror your own discomfort back over; but they're blessed with a deadpan expression in all things. They, too, mirror folding their paws into their lap like you've done, and it's this that churns the most embarrassment for a reason you can't understand. You're the one that looks away in the end.</p><p>When the kids leave with the dishes and milk, they give you departing kisses on your cheek and wish you a good night's rest, as you do for them. The tent is messy in their wake, and the crumbs still litter the floor. If you were really, really desperate, you could lick them up.</p><p>You just settle back into your bedroll, flipping over so your nose nearly hits the opposite wall.</p><p>You don't sleep.</p><p>Your stomach hurts.</p><p>-</p><p>The winter must be taking a longer route to Moominvalley, because the meadows are still as lush and plentiful as in summer. Amongst the dry hay the colored like harvest, specks of knapweed and dandelions litter the pasture like splattered paint against a russet canvas. The sky is washed in a milken blue, and only a small breeze from the west promotes any sort of chill.</p><p>It's been a week since your prolonged atonement, and a week more until you leave for the peak. Your appetite has shriveled up like you've been expecting this from the beginning; you insist that you're satisfied with smaller portions, even when you get many certain Looks about it when you eat in Moominhouse. Besides, it's not like you've stopped eating <em>entirely</em>, and it's not like Moominpappa hasn't also lessened his meals.</p><p>You sit with your friend beneath a massive valley oak, its branches lowered and heavy with the burden of watching over the hilltop for many years. Dull light pokes through the leaf's shadows like holes in a lace doilie, cast over your picnic.</p><p>Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll, as is customary, lose themselves in talk about gardening and valley gossip and whatever else. Meanwhile Little My eats whole figs from the basket. The children had already gobbled up what they wanted, and now you see them racing across the slopes with a handmade kite following their lead — they're quick like rabbits and blur against the grain, outside of Lil Muff who sticks out like a sore thumb. On the opposite side of the fat trunk, Mildew sits against the tree with a book in his paws, since he's never been the active type.</p><p>"You're not going to eat, Snufkin?"</p><p>It's Snorkmaiden who asks this, obviously, because the question sounds so premature and unlike the onslaught of questions you've gotten from everyone else. Her copper eyes blink in both confusion and a slight glimmer of offense — she clearly put effort into preparing this picnic.</p><p>"He's 'fasting'," Little My answers for you, with a clear sardonic overtone that it near makes your fur bristle.</p><p>"Moominpappa and I are going to be low on rations during our journey," you explain. "I'm trying to be resourceful till then."</p><p>"I was about to say," Snorkmaiden says, still looking skeptical with her bruise-colored silken fur. "But I'm sure Moominmamma wouldn't mind cooking extra portions from your trip—"</p><p>"Ah, no," you quickly shake your head. "That's unnecessary, I have everything planned. All is well."</p><p>"That wasn't what you said before."</p><p>Everyone looks to Moomintroll; he's been waspish since you began speaking, chewing on a cucumber sandwich <em>very</em> slowly. You're not equipped to take any emotion at face value, but it's experience that tells you he's upset.</p><p>"What did I say before?" you ask mildly.</p><p>He takes a hasty gulp of the bite in his mouth before exclaiming: "The children said that <em>you</em> told them you're fasting longer because you don't deserve food."</p><p>"That is <em>not</em> what I said," you protest, feeling something hot crawl down the nape of your neck. The girls are clearly appalled and furrow their expressions with vivid confusion, but are overall silent.</p><p>"The trip <em>is</em> a reason for the diet," you continue, straining to keep your tone even.</p><p>"So, what? Your ancestors just plan on starving you until you've learned some cosmic lesson?" Moomintroll sharply ignores you.</p><p>"Honestly, Moomintroll. It's just for a couple of weeks. I don't expect you to understand it, this is just—"</p><p>"A mumriken thing?"</p><p>You don't like his tone.</p><p>"Moomintroll," you spit. "I'm grown and I'm <em>fine</em>. I know what I'm doing."</p><p>"This isn't— a matter of being <em>grown,</em>" Moomintroll snaps, his glare wild with disbelief. "You tell our children that hunger is some sort of reward and you expect me to not be upset?"</p><p>"That wasn't what I said—!"</p><p>"Then what <em>did</em> you say? Because they seem awfully hung up about it!"</p><p>"Papa?" Mildew peeks around the oak, looking sheepish. His interruption cuts the tension like a hot knife into butter. He looks very discomforted, leaving half of his frame hidden behind the trunk.</p><p>You rally yourself, then smile. "What is it?"</p><p>He trots over the uproots which look like hobbled knees protruding from the grass; when he gets to you, he holds out his book. "My paper's broken."</p><p>"Oh dear." You're certainly not going to look this gift horse in the mouth; Mildew tumbles onto his knees as you reel him closer so he can point out a massive crease in one of the pages. "I'll tell you what, sweet, the moment we get home we'll press this underneath some heavy books in Moomingrandpa's office — it'll be smoothed out in no time, I promise you."</p><p>Mildew nods and looks much better.</p><p>You ignore the glare emanating from Moomintroll's direction while you offer your son the sandwich slice and grapes on your plate, which he takes as he settles into your side to continue reading. He is definitely about to keep pushing the envelope until Little My, of all people, breaks the wounded silence with a cry of excitement. She's fishing through the picnic hamper and has pulled out a swing-top glass bottle brimming with a mulberry-dark substance.</p><p>"And you didn't think to bring this out earlier?" she scolds Snorkmaiden, whom turns bright yellow with surprise.</p><p>Moomintroll transfers his regard over to his friend, much too quickly to be sincere. "Oh! Did you make that, Snorkmaiden?"</p><p>She blushes. "Yes, currant wine!" she chirps with pride. "Alicia and I have been experimenting with some recipes at home. Go on, give it a taste and tell me how it is!"</p><p>"I'm sure it's wonderful," Moomintroll commends, reaching across the way to try and wrestle the bottle from Little My's paws with futile attempts.</p><p>The party, thankfully, dispels away from your quarrel, and you're very glad that the spotlight isn't hot on your head anymore. The afternoon lazily passes with the girls and Moomin talking in low murmurs after packing up, and you leaning against the ancient tree testing a tune with your harmonica. You keep waiting for their distant stares and whispers to grow dormant, but they never do.</p><p>-</p><p>As feared, Moominmamma doesn't take no for an answer when she stuffs cardamon buns into your meal basket. It smells so strongly of cinnamon and sparkles with pearl sugar, and it makes you wince just looking at it. Because she really, <em>really</em> shouldn't have.</p><p>"I don't want either of you dears straining yourselves on empty bellies," she murmurs, passing a moomin kiss around to her husband and then to you. Her words are evenly passed between you both, but they still feel jagged like knives at yourself in particular.</p><p>"We'll be fine, Moominmamma!" Moominpappa declares, kissing his wife in turn. "No matter rain or shine, we will return full-bodied and in time for supper within a week's time!"</p><p>"Yes," she says, lifting her crow's feet before trotting off to wash supper's dishes.</p><p>The living room was once stockpiled with supplies, but with your generous assistance in slimming down Moominpappa's choice of equipment, it's all been properly stowed away into rucksacks. Dishware, ropes, bar soap, tinderboxes, herb vials, small weaponry, waterskins, bedrolls, coffee pot, and anything in between is either packed away from sight or dangling against the pockets and loops of your backpacks. You're all set to head off first thing in the morning.</p><p>"Don't suppose we'll wrangle any sort of wild tigers on our way there?" Moominpappa hums idly as he slouches into his armchair, looking near adoration at the concept. "Now <em>that's</em> a first impression to make with our fellow travellers!"</p><p>"I'm not sure that greeting strangers while covered in tiger scratches would be my ideal entrance," you say; while Moominpappa is much too eager to get a headstart, you're relaxed enough to practice your knotting skills on the carpet; there's always spare string in your deep pockets for either you or the children to scavenge for.</p><p>"Maybe not," he admits, and sounds so disappointed that you hide your grin.</p><p>From the kitchen, you hear Moomintroll: "Already done?" He's surprised to the point of bafflement and you listen in, curious. "But you <em>love</em> hapanvelli, I was sure that you wanted seconds!"</p><p>Before you hear the other end of whatever conversation he's carrying, Pluckey walks into the room with a very large roll: Moominmamma had baked enough for the entire house and then some. Obviously they went for the biggest before their siblings caught scent, smothering it with honey freshly-gleaned that afternoon, and goes to sit on the couch.</p><p>"Don't drip any honey on the couch," you advise.</p><p>Their paws aren't free so they can't sign back, instead just shrugging in acknowledgement.</p><p>Moomintroll enters a moment later, looking so frazzled you'd almost list him a doppelganger. "Snufkin, may I...talk to you about—"</p><p>"Moomintroll!" Moominpappa interrupts fondly. "We'll be off before the rooster crows tomorrow, isn't that exciting? A shame you didn't want to join."</p><p>Your partner blinks, honing on his father's words and trying to connect the dots between them. He's obviously very distressed; his shoulder fur is puffed up and his tail slaps into the bookcase, teetering small porcelain pots and pictureframes.</p><p>"Yes, I..." he shakes his head. "I need to stay and watch the children."</p><p>"A pity," Moominpappa clicks his tongue. "Your tots can take care of themselves just fine! Right, dear one?"</p><p>He looks over to Pluckey, who is uninterested in the adults interacting and is instead shoving bits of their cardamon down beneath the couch cushions.</p><p>"Excuse me!" you cry. "What are you doing?"</p><p>They stare at you, and then bring a sticky paw down to hoist up the moss-colored cushion, revealing a face that cheerfully pokes out of their hiding spot.</p><p>"Oh! For heavens' sake," Moomintroll, in annoyance, walks over to cross his arms and look very sternly down upon his ancestor. "You know the rules, off the couch! You leave such dreadful stains!"</p><p>Pluckey makes to get up and leave.</p><p>"Wh— No, Pluckey, not you, dear. You're fine."</p><p>You laugh a little bit as Pluckey, confused, returns to their seat and stuffs down the last of their dessert. The Ancestor makes a sort of bicker, throaty and odd, before they ultimately scurry off like a racing dustball back into their layer. They do leave small pawprints and whiffs of smoke in their wake.</p><p>"This house is falling apart at the <em>seams</em>," Moomintroll mutters, sounding very much like Moominmamma. He begins to fiercely pat at the locations the Ancestor had touched, also like Moominmamma, before perking up and asking his father, "Where's the duster?"</p><p>"Didn't Mildew have it last?" you speculate.</p><p>Moominpappa thinks. "Yes, I do remember seeing it on his study desk. Right next to his globe, maybe?"</p><p>"He might've hidden it again," you say very fondly. "You know how fussy he is with cleaning up."</p><p>"Thank you," Moomintroll murmurs — to Moominpappa. He nearly trips over where you're cross-legged on the floor to head upstairs.</p><p>You frown, watching him saunter up the griping steps. Even Pluckey hangs over the arm of the couch, licking their fingers and seeming very intrigued like there's a sort of play onscreen for their amusement. Eventually they turn back to some sketchbooks they keep in the coffee table's drawers.</p><p>"What about... a band of ruthless crooks?" Moominpappa continues without missing a beat. "They always tend to leave the most attractive scars."</p><p>"Hm. No." Despite the lighthearted exchange you keep trading looks with the staircase, straining to hear Moomintroll's footsteps overhead and feeling very, very strange.</p><p>-</p><p>It's in your best interest to sleep with Moomintroll tonight, since pulling your tent out of your luggage would refute the entire purpose of packing up. You'll need to get a headstart on the sunrise as soon as you can.</p><p>Although, if you're honest, it might have been better to say to hell with it and camped out at your usual spot; the distance between you and Moomintroll feels like a barricade of thorns, your spines touching in a way that doesn't feel comfortable. Sharing beds with your partner usually has a more compassionate rhythm than this, and the absence of it feels more gaping. You don't have to guess what the matter is.</p><p>"You're cross with me," you decide at last. Your voice dries in the hum of that unbearable quiet.</p><p>Moomintroll sighs and shifts, like he'd been waiting for you to get on with this conversation. "I'm <em>concerned</em>," he corrects you. "And I'm allowed to be concerned, don't you think? You're being very reclusive about your intentions right now."</p><p>"I've explained to you as best I can why I'm doing this," you murmur.</p><p>"Are you really?"</p><p>"Yes." Your tone changes, just a bit. "I'm not doing this to bother you."</p><p>"But why do it at all? I just — I'd like to know <em>why,</em> Snufkin." He laughs a bit, humorless and crisp. "Don't I ask that so often. After so long, I'd have thought..."</p><p>He doesn't finish.</p><p>(Oh, you could tell him why. You could tell him the years where your hair was long and your outfits too frilled because they ought to be, the folks that swatted you away from their store windows and the nights of gulping air and not knowing any difference. You can't remember many faces, but some were kind and some weren't, and either way you took from them despite your itching guilt, your primal knowing that it was all so <em>wrong</em>. But you were just so, very hungry.</p><p>The problem is that once you tell him of these tales, he will know of them.)</p><p>"Do as you please," Moomintroll finally sighs. The wisps of defeat curl into his sleep-ridden voice and he shuffles about once again for a better position, inching further away. "If you want me to get off your hind about it, I will. I just...I worry sometimes, greatly."</p><p>— This will all be funny in a months' time or so. Moomintroll might curl his lip up like a creased cloth when you recount, but there'd be no true malice behind his scowl. It'll stir laughter up at the right times, how frivolous you are with food and anything else handed to you. Bruises always heal over, after all, and they make for interesting campfire stories if narrated correctly.</p><p>"I'll be fine," you say after a moment. "Thank you for caring."</p><p>He's very quiet, and you think that he may have fallen asleep.</p><p>"You'll come home after the trip," Moomintroll murmurs at long last, "and <em>then</em> you'll eat?"</p><p>"Perhaps."</p><p>"Perhaps??"</p><p>He's grating on whatever threads of temper you have left. Curtly you retort, "These are my decisions, Moomin. I <em>just</em> want you to respect them."</p><p>"I can't," he admits.</p><p>"Well, that's not my trouble to fix." You, also, make a show of adjusting yourself beneath the sheets so Moomintroll can hear how annoyed you're becoming; the dreaded tightness of the bedroom feels like you're tumbling down a very long flight of stairs, but you keep yourself anchored with a short huff. "Goodnight then."</p><p>You could very well be acting unreasonably pointed right now, but then again <em>everything</em> about you is pointed. It probably has something to do with the grass in your stomach that holds you over so your belly doesn't loudly complain. Or maybe the shame that feels as visceral as a layer of skin you cannot wash off. Maybe, also, your defiance despite feeling as though what you've done (although self-justifiable) has also ruined something very sacred.</p><p>Maybe Moomintroll would rekindle an argument if it wasn't nearing midnight, but he relents by saying 'Goodnight' as well, just as unenthusiastically as you had. A thick repose coats over, as you both listen to the other breathe in hopes that they'd even out in time. It's amazing how you don't even feel like you're in the same room anymore.</p><p>When you fall asleep, you dream of riverbanks, burnt bread, and stillborns.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes i hc snufkin with c-ptsd to project, Don't @ Me</p><p>also, spoiler: the 'disabled' and 'depression' tags are not for snufkin</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. swallow me up, but with all my thorns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>'i called from the wrong side of a fire door to tell you that i might come home. static and silence. then you said, don't.'</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time you feel like you can really breathe is when you're nearing an hour out of Moominvalley's clutches. You and Moominpappa have entered a forged silence after he's run out of things to be excited for, and you discouraging his ramblings with short replies. When the quiet steps in, and the bugs and trees speak for themselves, you feel that familiar confidence return into your spine.</p><p>When this high is reached, you often wonder how you find it in you to return to Moominvalley at all. The thick dome of trees and raggedy pathways, bordered with goldenrods, feels so much more attuned to what you are than any sort of plush, domestic life. To go home feels sacrilegious.</p><p>Neither of you stop for breaks; if Moominpappa or yourself are famished you eat the bare minimum of berries off of bushels, or drink cold water from your pouches. This is what you had hoped to achieve, for the claws of hunger to retract so there are no distractions. Even if Moomintroll was feisty about it, there's admittedly a sense of satisfaction in knowing that you were ultimately correct. The ends certainly justify the means.</p><p>A silly troll, he is, however lovely; although he carries such a tender, ideal world in him, it's simply not a realistic world to live in. He shoves you into grooves you're foreign to, and although he <em>means</em> well, it can't be a world that you need to get comfortable with. You have to survive with little given, littler taken.</p><p>The hills swell upwards to touch the skies, and you're out of breath alongside Moominpappa when you reach the jutted crags. Atop of them, the mountains surrounding you are equal, with the more distant figures fading into the blue like heaven and earth are intermingling.</p><p>Moominvalley is in the furthest of the dark-blue ridges; to reflect on that feels like unraveling thread from around your ankles.</p><p>"How remarkably small everything is from up here!" Moominpappa trills in delight, casting a paw over his eyes so he can stare farther out.</p><p>"Yes," you say.</p><p><em>Exactly,</em> you think.</p><p>-</p><p>It takes three days to reach the other members of your hike, and those days are filled with bonfires and intermittent chatter and rests beneath whatever spot of grass was untouched. Moominpappa cooks cheese with grits, and you play your music with the songs drifting across the prairies and into the mountains you've yet to walk upon. The fireflies all thank you for your offering as Moominpappa eats the roll Moominmamma had packed, while you decline the offer.</p><p>The tall sycamores peppered throughout the woodlands serve as pillars to guide and swerve your treads. Understories of clover, red and hare's-foot, and grass tickle your paw pads. There's no designated pathway to walk on, so Moominpappa is the one that guides you across the gullies and ravines until you see three folks chatting under a snag, which reaches taller than the pines encasing it and sticks out like a bone. </p><p>Moominpappa extends his greetings more enthusiastically than you do; thankfully there's little introduction since everyone's feet are aching to go. A sort of nonverbal negotiation transfers through the party: that there will be a time and a place for proper introductions.</p><p>Your father in-law spends most of the hike talking with a married couple up ahead: a grey muddler sporting thick square glasses, and a snork with green bangs — it took you an embarrassingly-long amount of time to realize they were unchanging because she'd dyed the fur. They're both polite and close-knit in a way that makes you reminisce of your walks with Moomintroll: those sort of clandestine touches which go both noticed and unnoticed, those touching fingers and stitched hips.</p><p>There's a mire with emerald-grass and cottonsedge speckled across the scape — as it peaks upward to assist your climb, the quietest hiker meets with your pace. Their breath is short and posture straight, which foretells their own experience travelling long-distance like yourself. They point their long snout up ahead to where Moominpappa is still talking the couple's ears off — but they don't seem to mind.</p><p>"Is he going to keep jabbering the entire time?" they ask.</p><p>"Yep," you answer.</p><p>There's a glimmer of amusement you both share before they surge on ahead, and that's as much social activity you wish to exchange for the rest of the journey.</p><p>-</p><p>When you reach the peak, it's as beautiful as you'd hoped.</p><p>From this height, the mountains sharing Ukko's Peak seem flattened out, more like bumps in a carpet than anything daunting. When you stand, the ground is snow-starched and spiked with cold rock, and a brash chill is rushing through which shakes everyone into their boots — or those who have boots, at least. There is a shared cry of cheer and awe as you all selectively gaze out and try to figure out where goes what landmark, and since everyone is exhausted this dissolves into getting unpacked and ready for dinner.</p><p>As you prepare the fire, you realize something that hits very suddenly, and that's despite rationing your worries and desires accordingly, and that you <em>should</em> feel safe enough to bask in hunger again — that you cannot. There is no underlying urge to eat, and for the first time that's worrisome.</p><p>You've come to this sort of conclusion that hunger is just something you can flick on and off at will; when you were ready to indulge again, you'd simply delve right back into your habits without missing a beat. That's what is <em>supposed</em> to occur, after all.</p><p>You're not in any sort of danger, nor is it considered sacrilegious with Atonement Day having come and gone. You're supposed to feel normal again; you're on top of the world and surrounded by friendly fellows and a warm hearth, and food.</p><p>And yet you're not hungry. But you're hungry. But you're not hungry.</p><p>"Mind if I sit?"</p><p>It's the hiker you'd shared few words with earlier: the deer with long antlers jutting from their chullo. Their fur is the grey-brown color of a stone hearth with wispy, flyaway hair so light that it nearly looks transparent. Stark orange from the fire engulfs their figure; as the clouds darken overhead and the dawn covers the mountaintops in a thick blanket, with your small campfire being the only source of light for miles.</p><p>"Suit yourself," you say. They settle on the stone floor beside you, murmuring a thanks as they lean forward to hold their paws close to the flames.</p><p>A great wind rushes across the summit and has you burrowing into some blankets you'd packed. In the distance you can see the misted silhouettes of Moominpappa writing in his journal, documenting who-knows-what, and the couple who have gone off to pursue their own exploration around the side of the mountain. The breeze threatens to extinguish your flame, but it only wavers; you wish that, somehow, you could contact your Fire Spirit and request her presence, but it'd be cruel to summon her in such conditions.</p><p>"Is there a reason you've been skipping dinner?" the traveler finally asks.</p><p>The resemblances of a good mood are shattered and expelled; whatever expression you'd been making curls up like potato peels.</p><p>"I'm watching myself," you answer, rather lamely — there is no reason to explain yourself to complete strangers.</p><p>They seem a bit surprised, flicking their long, draped ears. "If it's a diet you're worried about, I can assure you that you're <em>quite</em> thin."</p><p>"No, no," you shake your head, feeling overwhelmed again: that dirt being poured into your coffin. If you were certain they could understand sign you'd retreat to your paws to do the talking for you, but you aren't certain. "It's...quite complicated, actually."</p><p>Surprisingly, they adjust their position to face you properly, composed and attentive. "We packed enough portions for everyone," they explain. "Snorkmaîtresse would probably notice if there were any leftovers."</p><p>This does nothing but further rattle you.</p><p>"Is it some kind of trust problem?" </p><p>The way they word that makes you wonder how common your case is. "Suppose that <em>is</em> one way of putting it," you admit, albeit with great demurral. "I never thought of 'why', really. I always just accepted it as what it is. Doesn't everyone?"</p><p>"It depends," the stranger shrugs, but they don't look unnerved by your declarations. This is good. "I just know of many folks that are so used to bad things that the good things are almost <em>worse</em> than the bad things. It's odd! Minds are odd, aren't they?" To emphasize they point to the side of their temple. "Even the smallest sort of mishap can throw us through a loop, back into old habits — Is that happening to you?"</p><p>You frown a bit. "Perhaps?"</p><p>"Do you know anything that caused it?"</p><p>It's ridiculous for you to cast your deepest woes over for some stranger to paw through, but suppose it's better for it to be a stranger than any of the Moomins, or any of Moominvalley for that matter.</p><p>"My kind has a certain holiday," you try to begin, staring into the waltzing flames. "To prepare for a new year, we...we're <em>encouraged</em> to discard food and a few other essentials for about a day or so. It's not...truly a big deal, saying that out loud. Isn't that funny?" You laugh. "There are worse ways to reflect on awful behavior—"</p><p>"But that could've done something, still," the deer argues gently. "Like I said, even the smallest things—"</p><p>"It's not like that," you shake your head, your head weaving a certain rotten feeling down your ribs and into your stomach. "It <em>shouldn't</em> be like that. I have a family, I have rules, I have obligations, and oh it's dreadful, having to abide by <em>rules</em>, but... What else am I supposed to do, then? There's so much to be expected of me. I certainly can't up and leave like I once did."</p><p>Another strong wind follows your words, but they still simmer in the air like a locust-black storm. It doesn't feel relieving yet, not like it should; you have said too much and yet you haven't really said anything, not what's <em>really</em> wrong. Whatever that may be.</p><p>"I don't know if this applies <em>that</em> well," the stranger begins at last, "but have you ever heard the joke about the doctor and the patient?"</p><p>You look over sidelong. "You're going to have to be much more specific."</p><p>They chuckle. "Okay, so, a man goes to a doctor, right? He walks in and says, 'Doctor! It hurts when I do this'." Then they imitate great pain in one arm flailing about, fitting the narrative. "You know what the doctor tells him?"</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"He said, 'If it hurts, don't do that'."</p><p>You blink.</p><p>The fire whispers for a bit longer as the stranger's story sinks in, and then they wave it off, looking a tad apologetic. "I don't know if culture is just something you can shrug off, and this is coming from someone who doesn't know you, mind. But, I think at the end of it, if one can absolutely <em>not</em> do something without getting hurt, then...what's the point?"</p><p>"Meaning, what?"</p><p>"Meaning that you don't skip meals," they say, as if it's obvious. "I'm sure there are other mumriks like you, mate — hell, I know there's other <em>people</em> like you, hemulens and fuzzies and alike. I've met some!"</p><p>"Well, I haven't met a <em>mumriken</em> like myself," you retort a bit too tautly. "I don't know if there are any exceptions to be made for all the folks who distrust hunger or...otherwise."</p><p>"In the end," they shrug off your tone, "there shouldn't be shame for not being able to do certain traditions for the sake of your wellbeing. I think that's a bit...counterproductive, don't you?"</p><p>You cannot respond, you're too busy thinking.</p><p>"If you're so keen on culture, I can always make my own cult and you're welcome to join," they grin a bit.</p><p>You perk up. "I will do nothing of the sort!" But you laugh despite it all, and so do they. What an odd fellow.</p><p>The conversation leaves you, and when you reconsider your surroundings: the crackling fire, the choir of wind, and the silent but noticeable presence of Moominpappa not far off — things seem to fit together in a way that they didn't beforehand. This sort of glimpse into a perfect world that's a bit closer to be at the tip of your fingers, a hope that isn't terribly fleeting or distant.</p><p>"Take care of yourself, erm...I never got your name?" The stranger tilts their head.</p><p>You laugh again, but it's softer and shorter. "It's alright, I never asked for yours either."</p><p>"That's fair enough," they say, getting off the floor to wipe at their dress, also shaking their short tail furiously to get rid of the dirt. "I'm off to get some dinner — if it helps, we can eat together?"</p><p>Initially there's that urge to refuse, however polite you're fixing to be. But you're already in a bit of a new mood, and it'd be rude for it to serve no purpose other than to bounce around your chest until it, as it always does, dissolves. "That'd be fine."</p><p>Their eyes brighten and you like to think that you made their day, somehow; when they turn to retrieve the promised meal, you settle closer to the fire and feel the heat on your cheeks, which experience a smile of sorts after a very long, contemplative trip.</p><p>You never do learn each other's names.</p><p>-</p><p>Your feet are aching from a successful hike, and your knees more so from trying not to stumble the way down the mountain. Moominpappa was, of course, the one to suggest that they all keep in contact; although you've hardly the fancy to hold up that end of the bargain, you and the friendly stranger both part with a shake of paws, which is fine with you.</p><p>You both walk back to the direction of Moominvalley; abovehead the trees are revealing their bronze skeletons in the setting sun, and only the pines remain sturdy. The honey-soaked forest sharply veers into night, and glow-bugs pop out of the overgrown grass to join the stars.</p><p>As you prepare the tents for the night, Moominpappa returns from a nearby riverbank with two fair-sized silver trouts; their scales glimmer from being freshly caught, and your father in-law sets them down into a bucket so he can help you start cooking them.</p><p>"I've enjoyed our time together, Snufkin," Moominpappa says after a while, pouring oil into the frying pan. He puts the bubbling pot over the skillet. "It's a shame we don't travel together as much as I'd like. You're excellent company, son!"</p><p>You can't help your smile. "You as well, Moominpappa."</p><p>He returns to salting the fish and flipping them over the fire, and you sit back with your hat sitting next to you. A song is in order, here, but you feel something still nagging away at your lungs like an earthworm.</p><p>"Moominpappa?" you ignore the clot in your throat.</p><p>"Yes, Snufkin?"</p><p>"Have you...well... Hm." You prop your chin onto your palm; there's a massive gulf between what you'd like to say and what you <em>can</em> say. That, and the imbalanced communication you often share with Moominpappa over Moominmamma. But Moominmamma isn't here, and you need to start somewhere.</p><p>"I believe Moomintroll is cross with me," you decide.</p><p>"Why so?" He glances up. "Ah, is it the, erm...fasting thing? I remember him mentioning it once or twice, and it got his tail in a tiff."</p><p>You can't help your minor wince. "I never meant for him to get in a tiff over it, though. But he doesn't listen when I tell him that."</p><p>"Ah, well, my son is very forgiving," Moominpappa waves off in assurance,  "I'm sure that he's already forgotten why he was angry! You've no idea how much he'd gripe about your absence, only for you to return, and...well, that was that!"</p><p>You hum, unsure of what to concoct from that.</p><p>"He loves you very much, Snufkin," he continues, strangely gentle. "Not to be too sappy, but we all love you quite terribly."</p><p>"Not sappy in the slightest," you reply.</p><p>He chuckles, reaching out to give you a pat on the back before sweeping the fish off the grill.</p><p>-</p><p>The sight of Moominhouse looming through the treetops continues to be comforting; it's like a cold water being splashed on your face, and you feel your pockets for your harmonica to give the sun in your chest some use. Your belly has been refilled from the fish Moominpappa had caught, and the stale buns from Moominmamma, and some red berries and mushrooms. There's a speck of shame to be had for that, heavens knows why — perhaps you'll always feel guilty for trusting things.</p><p>But you are, unquestionably, happy.</p><p>Moominpappa lifts his shoulders as you approach Moominhouse, and you know that of all his talk, he misses his home too. You play your tunes and his pace seems to skip along with it.</p><p>All is well, and you even spot Moomintroll faithfully waiting on the veranda. He protrudes despite the shadows engulfing him, and that's partly because of the sun ducking beneath puffy grey clouds, washing the valley in a dull hue. He stands in front of the doorway, and even though he's clearly facing your direction, he makes no effort to rush down the path and sweep you up, nor does he seem keen on moving at all.</p><p>When you're close enough to see he's crossing his arms, there is still no movement. Something worms its way into your stomach: a wrongness.</p><p>"Moomintroll!" you greet him anyway, your feet finding the first steps up to the door. Moominpappa is behind you and also tips his hat in welcome.</p><p>Moomintroll doesn't budge.</p><p>You tilt your head, feeling as though you've stumbled across something that you should not have. "Moomintroll?"</p><p>"What the hell were you thinking."</p><p>His voice is flat, a fleeting something-else lurking right beneath the undertone. It catches you so offguard, you suddenly feel quite misshapen and adjacent to what is occurring — whatever <em>is</em> occurring.</p><p>Again, a bit more desperately, "Moomin—"</p><p>"How dare you." He uncrosses his arms and they fall to his side in fists, barely shaking. This time, his restraint explodes into a very wild and raw glare. "How <em>dare</em> you Snufkin! What— what have you <em>done,</em> I—!"</p><p>"Dear! What on earth is the matter?" Despite your crumbling heart, that cinnamon sting in your lungs, you reach out for him; he flinches away so dramatically you step backwards like he's fit to burst into flames.</p><p>"I should have— <em>done</em> something," Moomintroll seals his glare beneath his paws, his eyes shimmering as he ducks away. "I should've know that you— <em>both</em> of you—"</p><p>"Moomintroll, son," Moominpappa steps forward now, and Moomin accepts his touch over your own. "You're not making much sense. What's the trouble? Snufkin and I will be glad to help."</p><p>He looks at his father, and his initial anger folds into a bone-deep tiredness. Beneath that: some sort of fear that only makes your heart drop into your knees.</p><p>"Snap is ill."</p><p>You start. "With what?"</p><p>"What what you told them!!" Moomintroll shrugs out of Moominpappa's grip to properly stare at you, and his gaze darkens again. "They've collapsed and can't recover, all because they've been turning down meals! Oh, I should have known— why didn't I <em>see?</em>"</p><p>"My heavens," Moominpappa breathes in disbelief.</p><p>You step towards your partner, dazed. "Where are they?"</p><p>"You've done enough."</p><p>A wide and desolate and vivid thing overtakes your senses. Like simultaneously staring and falling into an abyss.</p><p>"Moomintroll, let me see my child."</p><p>"No." He grabs your arms before you break for the closed door, which he's still guarding. "They don't want to see you."</p><p>"Moomin, let go of me."</p><p>"Shut up!" His voice waters.</p><p>His grip isn't — could never be — strong enough to tie you down. You duck beneath his arms and bolt for the doorway, even with him screaming, "Leave them alone, Snufkin!"</p><p>You whip around to snarl at him, this stranger in Moomin's body. "Don't you tell me what to do."</p><p>"I have <em>never</em>," He measures up to reach your defenses, and his frame bristles with the fur on all his sides pricking upright, making him look like a terrible beast. His jaw locks up, promoting a nasty growl. "I have <em>never</em> told you to do <em>anything</em>."</p><p>You stare at each other, paralleled and unmoving.</p><p>"Our child does <em>not</em> want you to speak to them, Snufkin," he repeats again, dangerously low. "If you can't even respect that much—"</p><p>"I won't." You swing the door open despite the protests from both your partner and father in-law, barreling upstairs without forethought.</p><p>-</p><p>There's a man who shouldn't be here occupying the hallway: dressed in pure-white clothing with some sort of device looped around his neck, pockets flooded with pens and candies. He straightens when you make for the bedroom he's guarding: your children's room.</p><p>"Excuse me," he says, holding you at arm's length. "I can't let you in there."</p><p>"That's my child." You feel a tremendous dizzy spell coming on, your thoughts and movements swirling and threatening to leave entirely. This doesn't make sense. "Let me in. Let me see them—"</p><p>"Ah, so you're Snufkin?" The doctor keeps that poised manner about him, the kind that makes you want to scream. "I was told about you. See, sir, Snapdragon is ill—"</p><p>"I <em>know!</em>" Your panic catches up with the rest of you, and you pull at your hair in frustration. "I know, and— Whatever is wrong, I'll fix it."</p><p>The man gives a very knowing frown. He asks very carefully, "Do you know what happened, then?"</p><p>"I—" you stumble, shaking your head. "I wasn't there."</p><p>"Okay. Well, the family explained that Snapdragon had fainted one afternoon and hasn't recovered. They all suspect it's from malnutrition... Has your child been eating, Snufkin?"</p><p>"I..."</p><p>His frown deepens. "Have you been paying attention to your children, Snufkin? Ensuring that they're all getting enough to eat?"</p><p>"N-no, but—"</p><p>The door opens and your chest sinks to see that it's another doctor: a fillyjonk pushing their glasses up onto their snout and their arms flooded with paperwork. When they acknowledge the room, they first turn to you with a sort of manufactured smile, then turn to their companion for help.</p><p>"This is Snufkin," the doctor explains.</p><p>"Ah! Okay, yes, that checks out." They take another long minute to fix their glasses, as if all the time in the world has been touted to them.</p><p>"Hello, Snufkin," the fillyjonk begins. "Your partner said that you were Snap's other father?"</p><p>You swallow, nodding. "Where are they."</p><p>"Snufkin, do you remember anything of your child's birth? Any certain defects or illnesses?"</p><p>"What does THAT mean."</p><p>The fillyjonk doesn't look deterred. "I mean, was Snap born in a different manner than your other children? Any prolonged nursing, trouble with metabolism...?"</p><p>They trail off to give you time to answer but you don't.</p><p>The doctor steps forth instead, keeping distance like one would with a rabid animal. "Often the body releases important chemicals to survive — some people born one way may have more hormones, and some others may have more testosterone. Other chemicals in the body help us ingest certain proteins or glucose to keep us healthy, and if we have a deficiency of that substance, then..."</p><p>You are not a child. You do not need to be patronized like this. You know your <em>child</em>, and they don't deserve to be talked of like this sort of equation or textbook example of something awry. You hate doctors, you hate their large words, you hate their stench—</p><p>"Snapdragon isn't <em>uncommon</em>, but they are considered a special case," he continues, and his voice sounds fuzzier. "They can't create certain hormones and nutrients by themself, so they react a bit more sensitively to stress, or physical trauma, or..."</p><p>"Malnutrition?" the fillyjonk supplies.</p><p>"Yes, malnutrition. Their blood sugar is dangerously low. Did you know this, sir?"</p><p>The world looks as though you're viewing it from the distorted lens of a marble.</p><p>"I'd just presumed you would have known," the doctor murmurs. "Didn't you check your children to see if they were boys or girls?"</p><p>"That didn't matter to me," you retort, sharp as daggers. There's a pressure piling up behind your eyelids.</p><p>"Gender ambiguity is often the first symptom," he goes on. "I'm just...very surprised you didn't report on it."</p><p>"Because it didn't <em>matter!</em>" you shout, glaring with all your might. "It doesn't— it SHOULDN'T—"</p><p>"It very much does."</p><p>You have never wanted to disembowel somebody more in your life.</p><p>"And, um," the fillyjonk gestures to their companion, giving several eyerolls other to the cluttered papers on their clipboard. "The criteria...?"</p><p>"Yes, I was getting to that," the doctor assures. He turns back to you.</p><p>"Snufkin, has your child shown a change of behavior as of late?"</p><p>You stare him down.</p><p>The fillyjonk flips a few pages before trying, "Have they shown a disinterest in any hobbies?"</p><p>You open your mouth and close it in the same breath.</p><p>"Do they have fatigue or abnormal losses of energy?" they press on. "Do you know if they struggle with insomnia?"</p><p>
  <em>Shut up.</em>
</p><p>"Do they tend to give up on things more easily?"</p><p>
  <em>Shut UP.</em>
</p><p>"Have they shown any thoughts of harm or suicide—?"</p><p>The floral wallpaper is flighty beneath your knuckles; the noise slams throughout the house and the doctors perk their ears up.</p><p>"<em>Get out!</em>" you scream. "Get out of this house this INSTANT! Let me see them!!"</p><p>"Sir," the doctor warns.</p><p>"I'll feed them, <em>I'll</em> watch over them, just <em>please</em>—"</p><p>"Snufkin," he sighs, and through your blood-red haze you think he sounds agitated now. "Your child is hanging by a mere thread. We can't just <em>leave</em>, considering that by all accounts you've shown to be a danger to them — Moomintroll mentioned something of your own food troubles?"</p><p>"Get out of my house."</p><p>"We won't," he argues. "You need to go downstairs and let us handle this. If these 'food troubles' are an issue, we may need to check over yourself as well."</p><p>"Go away."</p><p>"It's natural to be upset—"</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em> you."</p><p>The doctors exchange a look between each other, upheld. It makes you sick. It makes you claws unfurl how professionally <em>tame</em> they're handling your own child.</p><p>"We'll tell Snapdragon that you asked about them," is all he says, and then they both walk back into the terrible-smelling bedroom. You stare blurry holes into it, hearing the lock click because they seem to have been warned about you.</p><p>The hallway thins to the size of a pencil, and you're forced to leave.</p><p>-</p><p>Downstairs, Moomintroll is clashing about in the kitchen and doesn't face you as you enter the room. Maybe there was supposed to be a grandeur feast to celebrate your safe return, but the kitchen is bare with clean counters and loud drawers.</p><p>The table is empty, so you take a seat. Moomintroll cracks eggs into a pan, his tail bent and lashing this way and that. Not once do you hear the distant steps of anything inhabiting the house; it feels haunted.</p><p>There's no sort of secret, intimate language to be shared between you, no subtle reassurances of what's happened to be found in his posture or how he bangs around plates and utensils. You watch his spine flex beneath his fur and there's an ache that moves around in your heart.</p><p>Outside the sky has prematurely darkened with a promised storm, with the first bullets of rain slamming into the kitchen window. Moomintroll flings a hot plate under your nose and now you both sit facing each other. The room feels more of an interrogation in a lowly prison; as thunder rolls across the valley like the far pattering of horse hooves, Moomintroll leans back into his chair. His eyes, blue of lapis, have no luster to them, and are stale as a lake, revealing none of the waves beneath its surface.</p><p>"Go on, then," he says, tone deceptively light. "I won't eat until you eat yourself."</p><p>Ah. A tight cord pulls your ribs. "I see." You look down; the eggs are runny and unappetizing.</p><p>It's your hesitance that eventually gets him to spit, "You likely haven't eaten in days—"</p><p>"I have!" Your fur rises up quite easily, giving the fight with the doctors.</p><p>"And you expect me to believe you?" Moomintroll snaps. "After all that's happened? After you <em>used</em> me?"</p><p>"I didn't use anyone!" you exclaim. "What happened was—"</p><p>"What <em>happened</em> was that you knew I wouldn't press you if you said that skipping meals was part of your culture," Moomintroll's volume grows. "You <em>knew</em> that I'd respect your privacy enough to <em>trust</em> you, and now our child is bedridden because you said they couldn't eat unless they felt worthy of it!"</p><p>"That was NOT what I said!" Your claws find crevices in the tablecloth. "I just wasn't trying to worry anyone!"</p><p>"Well you DID!"</p><p>The waves beneath Moomin's stature ripple and burst into the open waters, and he rises overhead with his chair scurrying out from under him. "You did, and now you've endangered our child— and you don't even seem <em>sorry</em> over it!!"</p><p>Your eyes widen, misting over.</p><p>"We're not— You can't be a <em>kid</em> anymore, Snufkin! I can't make excuses for your shitty habits! I can't— I shouldn't HAVE to make sure that you're eating, or that you're telling our children the right things— and I'm <em>sorry</em> that your childhood was bad and that we're not enough to pull you out of it, but this isn't about <em>us</em> anymore!"</p><p>He points sharply over your head and up the staircase. "You ought to start acting like those children are bigger than yourself, you hear?? Everything you do, everything you TEACH— it goes through <em>them</em>, whether you like it or not! Teaching them a false law about starving yourself until you're worth it...that hurts us, that hurts ME."</p><p>Whatever sorrow you're showcasing, Moomintroll bears no mercy to it. He slams himself back into his seat with an exhausted huff. "Now sit and eat your damned eggs!"</p><p>"Moomin..."</p><p>"Every bit you take, I take as well," he says, jamming a fork into the dry yolk. "Everything you eat, I don't eat."</p><p>"Stop."</p><p>"I will <em>not.</em>"</p><p>"I didn't <em>know!!</em>"</p><p>Moomintroll, by heaven's grace, stops due to your outburst.</p><p>"I didn't know..." Oh, he's stopped because you're wringing your braids and rocking in your chair. Your tears burn fire-hot down your cheeks like vivid shame, like love taken for granted. You think of Snapdragon, and how fragile they must look in that bed, strung by wires and machinery you can't understand—</p><p>You unspool your threadbare sorrow, and you can't help being embarrassed by it all. There is no memory you could conjure up that would be equal to this moment. No <em>excuse</em> for it.</p><p>"I didn't...want this," you clumsily wipe at your first in an attempt to rid the evidence. "I... It was supposed to be <em>me</em>. All of it. All of it was supposed to be me..."</p><p>Moomintroll doesn't offer a word. He just sits still, waiting for something.</p><p>But what can you offer him? What script is to be given for this? What do you say when you could have killed your own child?</p><p>He takes his fork and stabs a piece of egg with it. You wipe your nose, pick up your fork, and do the same.</p><p>"You need to stop acting like everyone in your life is going to be me," Moomintroll says at last. You can't pick apart what he's feeling.</p><p>"I didn't want this."</p><p>"No one does."</p><p>The first bite is cardboard on your tongue, but maybe the eggs taste better in Moomin's mouth. So you keep eating, even if it hurts, even if it's a wound.</p><p>"I'm very mad at you," Moomintroll murmurs while chewing. "I've already told you why. But, I'm not the one you need to apologize to."</p><p>"I still want to apologize," you manage, warbling on the wrong words. The food doesn't go down your throat right, and you choke on them in the process. "I don't ever want you to be upset, Moomin."</p><p>"Let me get your plate," he says instead of a rightful reply. Surprisingly, there's only a few yellow morsels left; apparently your low drive to eat was menial compared to helping Moomintroll eat. That's a weird thing to think about; what does one do with that?</p><p>He takes the dishes and washes them over the sink, during which he says, "I read up on some things while you were gone. Apparently there are laws forbidding people to fast if they can't handle it."</p><p>You know where he's going and you shrivel up. "So..."</p><p>"So <em>consider it</em>, then," Moomintroll snips.</p><p>You think back to what the stranger said, and you ponder.</p><p>Looking at Moomintroll, <em>really</em> looking, reveals a new layer of him. The hunch in his steps is more noticeable now, the cord embedded up his spine. He's the one that's been dealing with Snap's episode firsthand, you realize with a harsh pang.</p><p>"Moomee..."</p><p>"You should leave," Moomintroll sighs. "I don't like being mad."</p><p>You do.</p><p>-</p><p>You step outside again, and the valley is a different world. Heavy winds blast the porch and rattle the rocking chairs, jingling the windchimes into a cacophony of malicious tunes. Thunder rumbles over the house and everything shakes.</p><p>On the steps, careless of how soaked they are, Pluckey and Lil Muff sit with their backs to you. Little My keeps them company, leaning against a pole on the railing. When the door closes behind you they all turn, and you're trying very hard to smile for them.</p><p>"How are—"</p><p>Whatever you'd attempted to say, Lil Muff doesn't let you finish. She gives a terrible, shaky exhale before sprinting down the soggy path and into the thick of the trees. You watch her leave, too shocked to stop her.</p><p>Little My scoffs. "Oh, no worries, <em>I'll</em> get her!" She hops down and deliberately brushes past you to retrieve an umbrella from its bucket, then walks out into the rain without another glance back.</p><p>Pluckey is all who remains, and once their sister and aunt have disappeared they stare at you. They look so distant, somehow, like you're viewing each other on different sides of glass. They stand, shaking their tail, and walk inside.</p><p>You find yourself fallen into a rocking chair, even when your hind gets immediately soaked. A liquid hurt rushes up your throat like bile. You don't know how long you've been frozen there, feeling the rain drip onto your hat, before the door opens again and you stiffen like you've been struck.</p><p>"There you are," Moominmamma murmurs. "Pluckey said you'd be out here."</p><p>Her feet are lily-soft and creep gentle along the dark, wet floor. You feel her paws untangle your fingers digging into your scalp, rubbing your wrists because she knows you like the sensation.</p><p>"Have some tea, it should calm your nerves a bit." She gestures to a teacup placed on the rattan table, obviously brought out by herself.</p><p>You want to decline, but this isn't about you anymore. You cusp the small cup in your palms — the ones Fillyjonk gifted at a baby shower, handpainted with roses that you and Moomintroll always poked fun at — and peer down at the caramel drink with a slice of thin lemon in it. There's an undercast of purple that helps you recognize it as lavender tea, if the smell didn't already give it away.</p><p>It's hot when you down it, attempting to rid your throat of any sobs.</p><p>The grass and chimes whine under a hot wind, and you think of everything that's stirring in your mind like stew.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Moominmamma."</p><p>She nods. "I forgive you, dear," she says, subdued. "You just gave us more of a fright than anyone."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>She taps her fingers along the rim of the chair, looking very saddened. "Is it something we'd done?"</p><p>"No!" you exclaim in haste. "No, not at all. You're all wonderful, but...it was just my fault."</p><p>She thinks a moment, and during this you finish your tea. The bitter lemon follows your tongue and you smack your lips to rid yourself of the taste, but to no avail.</p><p>"I wish you trusted us with this, dear," she murmurs. "But I understand why you cannot."</p><p>"I should. I ought to." Your lungs hurt. You feel like you've swallowed rocks. "Moomintroll is very sore with me right now..."</p><p>"He is," Moominmamma replies. "But if you're welcome to grieve, then so is he. The children, too. The best thing we can do now is try and grieve together."</p><p>From inside, you hear the lull of voices; you can't recognize the owners or the tone, but it still makes you very uneasy.</p><p>"What do I do, Moominmamma?" Your voice is small in your mouth, so terribly peevish. "How can you grieve without it hurting so badly?"</p><p>She takes your shoulder and leans it into her bosom — she's fluffy like Moomintroll, like golden featherdown. But there's a certain weight to her, too; an ancient comfort you can't get from anyone else but her. She smells like an array of spices.</p><p>"I don't know," she admits. "But it helps to cry."</p><p>You clench your claws into her fur like she's intangible, and you sob out an awful, bone-wrenching noise that shames you greatly. But there's release to it: the flushing of a salt-crusted wound. You cry for things you didn't think could ever be cried for. It all meshes into terrible, profound things you can't define by words, and everything pours from your face into Moominmamma's front.</p><p>She pats your back as the skies mourn.</p><p>-</p><p>The doctors stay out of sight like ghosts in the corner of your eye, and they only speak in sharp murmurs or instructions to the Moomins — never to you. The tea caddy has gotten emptier as Moominmamma brews them many drinks as thanks. You half-hope that the children will put nails or frogs in their teas so they know that they're unwelcome. But they never do; mischief has waned in Moominhouse since Snap isn't there to moderate their siblings.</p><p>Most evenings are spent in front of the fireplace playing cards with the Ancestor; sometimes Little My will join just to show who's in charge, other times Pluckey. They tend to be very curt and avoid eyes, but it's better than nothing.</p><p>Really, the only person who treats you the same is Mildew, who is too young to understand what's happening. You coax him into your lap with stories from his favorite books, and he in turn continues his habit of pulling every bit of you he can reach. The Ancestor sometimes curls up at your feet to listen in, so suppose you're on good terms with them as well.</p><p>You can't go outside. The rain has drenched the entire valley and left your usual camping spot a pool of mud. Of course the Moomins insist that you may stay, no matter what; but this means that you're left trapped in the labrinyth of your actions, with no escape of this grief and guilt.</p><p>Perhaps this is your penance. Your true atonement.</p><p>You spend your nights holed up in a guest bedroom; Moomintroll has made it very clear that he'd rather be by himself, and the nights are very lonely as you hear the raindrops rattling the roof above. You miss his warmth and his reassurances, however blind they'd be; but for now you've lost that, and he really only spends time with the doctors to try and figure out the next course of action. If the kids want company, they turn to either their grandparents or Little My.</p><p>One afternoon, the children are dressed in rain jackets to go and hunt for seaweed with their grandmother; it's the perfect weather for laverbread, she insists, and with the downpour (both literally and so-on) Moominmamma is more determined to keep her home blessed and her dinners hearty.</p><p>Lil Muff barrels into your waist for a tight hug, rooting her claws into your back with a newfound paranoia. Pluckey only grabs their cane leaning against the doorfront and gives you a half-glance.</p><p>Moominmamma presses a kiss to your cheek. "They'll be gone soon enough," she whispers, nodding over to the doctors that sit at the table, drinking tea and eating their biscuits like they belong there.</p><p>When they return to their headquarters, supposedly chatting with Moomintroll, everything grows quiet as everyone has retreated to some private corner of the house. You jump at the opportunity to grab a pot of coffee and retreat into the sitting room to watch the storm howling outside. The rain is a thick, gauzy curtain that spills over the land; if you stepped outside you'd just get a leg drenched with mud.</p><p>But, your mind flits to the happy, plump trouts in the river; the milk snails that trail up the waterlogged barks; the grass that dances in the pelting storm. There are always those who are happy at the expense of those who are not.</p><p>The wood of Moominhouse is very sensitive, so it cries under every step no matter how timid. You turn expectantly when you hear the creaks that trail down the steps, and are surprised at the person treading over to where you're sitting.</p><p>Snap is remarkably skinnier than when you last saw them; their posture is usually so tall and proud like a doll on its stand, so it's odd to see their toes dragging from one step to the next. Because their vision is so crisp in the dark, they have no glasses on; their hair looks pressed down in awkward angles from the pillows. You recognize their cream nightgown as one you'd gifted them, the one with strawberries embroidered along the neckline.</p><p>Their tail is missing. Their <em>feet</em> are missing.</p><p>"Hello," you manage after a cough.</p><p>They just take a seat on the armchair across from your own; suppose they don't have it in them to pretend.</p><p>A gust of wind blows droplets of slivered glass onto the window and you watch them lazily drip down. The table dividing you both feels wider than it is.</p><p>"I take it that you're feeling better," you say.</p><p>Snap looks over from where they've pressed up against the windowpane. "Hm?"</p><p>"Well, you're out of bed," you explain, "so that's already an improvement!"</p><p>"Oh. Sure."</p><p>They don't sound convinced; whatever plastic smile you attempted for them quickly drops.</p><p>"Snapdragon—"</p><p>"You said that Atonement Day was all about being better in the new year," Snap begins, sounding pinched and <em>weird</em>; it's so unlike them you nearly shudder. "That the point of fasting was...disciplining our desires. To see what we needed and what we didn't."</p><p>A pulse of more shame bubbles in your blood. "I did say that," you admit at length. "But—"</p><p>"I thought that," Snap continues, "If I just...focused on trying to be happy, then I wouldn't <em>need</em> food. That maybe, somehow...withholding meals would mean that I would get out of it. Get out of...being sad."</p><p>"That's not your call to make."</p><p>"Then whose is it?" Their eyes are hard but dulled.</p><p>They keep going after you can't find it in you to answer. "It was supposed to be a few meals." Their tone wavers. "But...what you said about being selfish—"</p><p>"I didn't mean it like that—"</p><p>"Then what <em>did</em> you mean?" Snap's voice sharpens into flint. They're exasperated now. "You keep saying you didn't say that, or you didn't mean it like that. I don't think <em>you</em> know what you said."</p><p>"I know," you extend a paw and they retract before you can reach them. "I know, I <em>know</em> I said the wrong things. We shouldn't fast to punish ourselves, to <em>wean</em> off of trusting what's given. That should never be the point of anything."</p><p>"But I just..." Snap crumples into place, their expression creases and they look so, so little. "I just couldn't get <em>happy</em>. That's all I want."</p><p>There's nothing to aid you, the misted windows offer no answers from beyond. You're stuck in this moment.</p><p>"I know it's late to ask for forgiveness," you murmur.</p><p>"I wouldn't want to hear it," Snap interrupts.</p><p>"But," you try, "please don't let this cloud your judgement on mumriken traditions. <em>I</em> taught you wrong... It's not anyone's fault but mine."</p><p>"Maybe those types of things just weren't made for people like me," Snap shrugs off; they're still set on the window with a stare glazed over.</p><p>"They were," you argue. "They <em>are</em>, I...I'm the one that you should be angry with." Your paws are knitted in your lap so snugly they nearly burst at the seams. You fold in your lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my dear. I didn't know. I <em>should</em> have known."</p><p>There's another stretch of quiet; unkempt words which crawl forward and wait for a drop.</p><p>"I promised myself I'd learn to be happy this year," Snap murmurs. "I'm not happy."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"I don't want to live here anymore."</p><p>You bite back a wince. Your heart hurts. "Okay."</p><p>"Okay..." Snap tosses your answer about in their mouth, looking considerate as they interpret its meaning.</p><p>There's no warmth against the glass to cling to, and you're too far away from candlelight or the hearth to bask in their heat. You think of how amazing it is for anyone to find solace in this world at all. How despite history, there is still a sun.</p><p>Snap falls asleep some time later, and you sip your cold coffee; someone will come down soon and take them back to bed, so you appreciate this little minute you have with them before it’s swallowed up.</p>
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